


Unless you do it without me

by thishasbeenaPSA (CallowAlex)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Best Friends, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Dirty Jokes, Friends to Lovers, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Rating May Change, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-27 04:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15016556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallowAlex/pseuds/thishasbeenaPSA
Summary: Bucky takes it too far, as always





	1. This is the oddest of summers

The night was so incredibly still, like the air around him was frozen in place. It smelled like a charcoal grill was not too far off. It reminded him a bit of home, the quiet buzz, the excitement, the moonlight spilling onto his hands. Things were different, though. The distant screech of tires was removed, the excitement boiling with dread now, and these hands were not the same. They were large, tanned, calloused. He wrung them out with the same nervousness he had as a child, though.

He wondered when he would get home. It’s hard to surprise people when you know so little about them. It was weird for Steve to think he knew little about Bucky, but it was true. He still barely knew how he managed to save him, how  _ he  _ managed to save  _ him.  _ It was certainly different from nights on the Brooklyn roof, a cigarette placed neatly in between his fingers. He still sometimes missed it.

The sky was clear aside from a couple wisps of clouds. He watched them trace their path in the sky, moving from star to star as a reference point to prove movement. He wondered if it always felt so  _ relaxed  _ here. By all accounts, Steve should be anxious. He is meeting his best friend after a stint in cryo, after he was trained to kill him by an organization he had been fighting for shy of a century. He rubbed his face with his hands; when had he gotten so old?

He heard the distant rumble of what sounded like a Harley. It made the blood in the pads of his fingers thrum against the plastic arm of the lawn chair. Knowing he’d be here in a moment, it made his blood feel like it was faster than it usually was; like he was being electrocuted while upside down. Again, some things never changed.

He heard the noise get louder and louder, and he felt the pulse in his fingers get stronger and faster. He wondered if  _ he  _ ever felt like this. He, oddly, hoped he felt like this too.

The roar of the bike came to a screaming halt, the kind that a functioning machine shouldn’t make if it was being used properly. He couldn’t help but mutter, “You’re a damn idiot, Barnes.”

From the other side of the house, he heard a gasp. He forgot about the super soldier hearing the two men possessed, and he was quite aware his cover was blown. To be fair, surprising a trained assassin was the furthest from easy.

He heard the other man jog around the house, slowing as he reached the corner. He stood up tentatively. Suddenly, Steve realized he hadn’t planned what he was going to say or do. Was a “hello” to formal, a hug too intimate after so long? While his head still spun, he rounded the corner of the house, and Steve was in full view. This was it, he waited for far too long for this.

Steve watched Bucky’s face twist into a hundred different emotions, only a couple of feet away from him. His hair was up in a loose bun, dark wet strands hanging around his face, framing his jaw and grey eyes. He wore black ripped jeans and a white button down with black buttons. Steve almost gasped.

Before he was able to make a decision on how to react, he felt himself being pulled into a hug. He never knew how Bucky was able to move with such grace while still carrying so much strength and power. Steve was met with a white toothed grin as Bucky jerked him back, now at arm’s length, the right side of his mouth twisted further up. He missed him.

“Hey. It‘s been a while,” Steve manages, still recovering from being tossed around just a moment ago. Despite his mind not really being there, he felt a grin that reflected Bucky’s dance on his lips. He wondered if it was a good look on him.

“It has,” Bucky first whispers, awe in his voice, but it almost looks like he wasn’t aware it passed through his lips. He smiled idly for a moment, then clapped his hand on Steve’s shoulder with such force. “Is that the best you’ve got, Captain?”

Steve pulled him in for another hug, hitting his back so hard Bucky gasped for air, the easiest way to get revenge for almost knocking him to the ground moments ago. “It’s nice to see you haven’t changed much!” He hid the genuine worry in the statement by making it sound so jovial. In all other circumstances it would be just that. But after everything, it was a legitimate fear, that he’s forget everything. That fear kept him up at night.

Bucky laughed, but there was a bitter tone in it. “That’s where you’re wrong, Cap, I’ve changed quite a lot.” His eyes glazed for a moment, barely mouthing, “for the better,” before changing his demeanor to its usual careless confidence. “I got tanned.” For a moment, Steve just looked at his friend’s arm, admiring how far he’d come. “And my brain is doing pretty well, ‘s far as I can tell.” Steve heard the smile in his voice.

For a moment they just looked at each other, happy to have the other back. They both looked so different, and their age was beginning to betray them, just ever so slightly. He wondered if he was receiving any pity from the other man. Thankfully, Bucky broke the silence. “Hungry?”

And he was, he was really fucking hungry. He followed his friend with simple obedience into his Wakandan house, always curious despite seeing the house’s interior before. Bucky’s kitchen was little more than a decked out bar, with a small room with a sink, stovetop, and fridge. He wondered how he survived. 

The brunette motioned lazily to the comforter, and Steve’s body happily obliged; it had been a long trip after all. He watched him flick a switch, playing old swing music, before reaching into the fridge. Steve closed his eyes, leaning into the music and smells of the house.  _ It’s been too long.  _

After a moment of zoning out, he realized Bucky had asked him something that he hadn’t heard. He vaguely remembered hearing the inflection of a question, but he hadn’t the slightest idea what was asked. Steve let out a simple hum as a response, not worried that it was the wrong answer. He was the happiest he’d been in a while, so he wasn’t focusing on the world around him.

The hum was decidedly answer enough, as Bucky responded with a happy “okay” and got back to fiddling with things in the kitchen. Steve often wondered what he would say to himself, if he was sitting with himself back in the early 30s, the Steve who was barely a preteen, the one who could break at a strong enough breeze. How would he explain everything to him? How would he ever explain how, 80+ years later, he was still kicking, and looking like  _ this  _ no less. Everyday he was both thankful and so damn ashamed. He still didn't understand the question he’d asked himself since day one, since before Bucky or the serum or the war or the ice or the excommunication of the Avengers; _ why me _ . What he wouldn’t do to have lead a simpler life. But, he guessed, it just wasn’t his path.  _ So then what IS? _

“Thinkin’ too loud, bud.” Bucky’s weight on the arm of the chair snapped him into his own skin, back to here and now. He was handed a grilled cheese with prosciutto. He was thankful that Bucky always knew what he needed at the moment.

Steve realized he never responded to what was said, so he let a quiet huff escape his mouth. He still didn’t know what he was supposed to do in this situation, but he never did. He chose to let Bucky lead the conversation, hoping not to step on any toes, accidentally reopen any healing wounds.

And lead he did. “So, I’ve been thinkin’, Stevie,” Steve unintentionally groaned at the name, and Bucky swatted him on the shoulder with his non-metal arm. “I was thinkin’ about when we were kids, you know?” Bucky posed it as a question, but didn’t choose to wait for an answer. “I was thinkin’ how I taught you how to dance.”

Steve was admittedly taken aback by this, mostly as it was a piece of their friendship that seemed weird for him to mull over now, of all times. As if he could see the question forming on his friend’s forehead, he smiled. “Cryo, they had me relive memories they deemed important, said it  _ defined who I am,  _ whatever that was supposed to mean.” Bucky quickly swallowed the bite he was chewing as he spoke, his adam’s apple bobbing at the motion. Steve shifted, like the movement startled him, anticipating the upcoming question or epiphany or  _ something,  _ but he continued to eat. Steve asked him with his eyes what had just happened. His friend shrugged. “I was just thinkin’ ‘bout it, ‘sall.”

Steve rubbed his face slowly, both out of exhaustion and confusion. “Sometimes I feel I’ll never understand you.” It wasn’t really a lie. After knowing this man for so long, there was still this look he got that he never understood, like he was closing the curtains tight. He only saw it when Bucky looked at  _ him.  _ Why did he still have something to hide?

“That’s the game, my friend,” without looking at him, he knew he had that stupid ‘I’m-about-to-make-a-joke’ face. “Gotta keep you on your feet, or knees at least.” Steve snorted, slapping the back of his palm lightly. If Steve knew anything about Bucky, it was when he was going to make a stupid joke. Still, despite expecting it, he felt the tips of his ears flush. Both of them were so predictable. 

“Man up, Rogers!” Bucky pulled at his ear, eliciting a squeak. “Did they teach you nothing bein’ America’s sweetheart? Still blushing any time anyone mentions something  _ raunchy _ !” Bucky wiggled his eyebrows, smiling happily. Steve felt the blush creep down his ears to his cheeks. “Come on, soldier! Eyes up, don’t let ‘em distract you!” 

He placed his knuckle beneath Steve’s chin, pushing it up. For a moment, Steve snapped into soldier mode. “Yes, sir,” He said in his Cap Voice before feeling his face heat to a feverish temperature. Bucky looked at him queerly, causing Steve to curse his heavy conditioning. “Jesus, sorry. Force of habit.”

Bucky smiled, but there was some other emotion under it. “They did a number on you too, huh?” Bucky ruffled his hair, like they were the same kids they were so long ago. Then, a devilish grin appeared on his face, gently tugging at the hair interlaced between his hands. “Didn’t mind you calling me ‘sir’, though.”

Steve felt like the wind was knocked out at the feeling of his hair being yanked, then felt like he was shot when Bucky purred ‘sir’ at him. He tried a laugh, but he could tell it had too much air. Bucky’s face went from an innocent impish grin to genuine concern.

“Shit, Stevie, you okay?” Bucky had retracted his hand, but was close to his face, and his breath was hot against his face. “What’s up?”

_ What kind of answer do you want from such a loaded question, Barnes? Want me to tell you I liked you pulling my hair back, wanting me to call you ‘sir’? Captain America wasn’t gay, if Steve had any say in it.  _ “Memories, is all.”

Bucky dragged his fingers through Steve’s hair, trying to comfort him, but it had the exact opposite effect. Steve knew if he recoiled from the touch, it would set off Bucky’s alarm bells. He didn’t want him to worry about him, especially when  _ this  _ was the issue.

After a little bit, and much to Steve’s relief, the brunette lulled off to sleep, but had leaned heavily on Steve’s body. Steve was trapped with his scent and warmth all night.


	2. You're a sweet talker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky takes it too far, as always

Bucky woke up to the sensation of a warm hand tracing down his left arm, moving slowly from plate to plate. It was moving now between the dip of his biceps and start of his brachioradialis, the movement methodic and slow. He felt himself tense, eyes snapping open with a fear that had been trained into him. However, it was just revealed to him that it was Steve, blue eyes focused on his arm. His hair was pushed back unceremoniously, his beard looked carefully combed. “How’d they manage to do this?”

Bucky clenched his hand into a fist, feeling the plates move to accommodate the manmade muscles that mirrored the ones on his other arm. He sighed. “Gold Vibranium, synthetic muscle, lots of time and trial and error.” He smiled, moving each finger one at a time with dexterity that was almost better than his other arm. “Just got it recently, wanted to make sure I was ready.” He rotated his wrist slowly, proving its effectiveness.

Steve happily smiled, before slipping out from under Bucky’s weight to get up. He noted that Steve’s ears were tinged red. “I’m going to start working on breakfast. Eggs and chicken omelette with cheese?”

Bucky nodded. He hated how every part of their lives were affected by the serum. They needed less sleep, more food, more exercise to let out the ridiculous energy that pulsed through their skin. He let Steve figure out breakfast on his own, letting his mind wander. He wondered why now, of all times, had Steve showed up. He felt like it had been so long, he missed him. Steve was the only normal Bucky ever got. He was a tether to the ground, he made him sort himself out. He leaned back, letting his eyes fall shut. He still felt bad for bugging Steve yesterday, making him remember something he shouldn’t. He should’ve known better.

After a moment, Steve handed him a plate and sat on the floor at his feet, smiling contently. Bucky took a bite, letting his eyes fall from the space behind Steve. He monitored Steve’s eyes in his peripheral, watching his eyes go from the room to Bucky to his food. He could picture young Steve Rogers, eyes flitting around the small Brooklyn apartment as Bucky would smoke. Steve used to try to before the serum, but quit because it was bad for his asthma; he always had an issue with his lungs. He remembered when they would dance, the window open letting in the cool night air, Bucky’s hands on Steve’s shoulders because it was more comfortable for Steve to put his hands on Bucky’s hips; his shoulders were also a huge issue for Steve. They’d listen to Bing Crosby’s voice on their record, smiling when the overused records would pop or skip. He loved those times.

He felt Steve’s eyes on him, so he let his eyes flutter open. Steve was looking at his lips. He licked them self consciously, and Steve’s ears burned red again. Bucky offered up a kind smile to his friend. He heard the question before it tumbled out of his lips. “What’s with the beard?”

Steve laughed, smoothing it out and pushing back his hair again with his hand, letting it scratch the back of his head; a telltale sign Steve was nervous. “More inconspicuous, I guess.”

“Sorry about that, by the way. I really fuckin’ am.” Bucky heard the sadness in his voice, but he didn’t want pity. “Not that sorry though, if this is what came out of it.” Bucky flashed an award winning smile, slyly winking at his friend.

Steve laughed, his rosy blush decorating his cheeks. Had Steve always had those faint whispers of freckles of his face? How much of Steve’s life did Bucky have to miss? “Thanks, I guess.”

Bucky reached out, ruffling Steve’s hair. He was just a year older than him, but he was always there to protect Steve, and he always acted like he was still the frail kid in Brooklyn. It was easier for Bucky to justify all the physical affection he gave to his friend. He used to laugh that every year on Steve’s birthday, the sky would erupt in fireworks, like the world celebrated having him in it. He meant that, the world should celebrate Steve, even pre-Cap Steve.

Steve’s hair was longer now, worry lines forming on his forehead. Bucky smiled sadly, wishing things didn’t go this way, he wished they were still kids. “You don’t look half bad yourself,” Steve muttered, seemingly to himself, after a bit of silence.

“‘Not half bad’ is a weak ass compliment and you know it, Rogers!” Bucky smiled, tucking a stray hair behind his ear reflexively. He watched Steve eye the motion intently, like he was trying to memorize something about it. “You think I look nice, it’s written all over your face,” Bucky teased.

Steve pushed him gently, laughing. Another thing that always stayed the same about Steve was the way he reacted to compliments or Bucky acknowledging Steve’s spots of embarrassment. Bucky always thought it was a game, but there was something fulfilling about making Steve Rogers, patron saint of the American dream, blush. It was a skill only Bucky had, and he cherished it. “You look good, Buck. Long hair suits you.”

Bucky beamed at the compliment; his confident facade was just that. Steve smiled sheepishly, just in the way he always did. The song switched to one that often filled the camps during the war. Steve stood up, motioning for Bucky to follow.  _ We’ll meet again _ filled the room, and Steve reached out a hand that bucky readily took. He pulled them closer, resting his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. He followed suit, gently cupping Steve’s waist. Steve pressed his forehead against Bucky’s gingerly, and they began to sway.

The music was steady and familiar, it’s tone so bittersweet now. Steve spun Bucky, and he saw the glint of tears in his face before he was pulled back into Steve’s chest. They continued the waltz around the room carefully, breath intermingling between the two. “I missed you, and this,” Steve offered to the silence, the sound of his crying was not yet removed from his voice. “ _ And I know we’ll meet again some sunny day”.  _ Steve sobbed

“Hey, come on kiddo,” Bucky reached his hand to brush away a tear on the blond’s face. “I’m here now, we’re okay.”

“But it took me too long, it took me so long because I was scared.” Steve whispered, and Bucky shivered at the breath on his collarbones. “I was scared things would change.”

“They have changed, Stevie, but that’s okay. I’m not mad at you for being scared. I went back into cryo because  _ I  _ was scared. And that was a decision that I regret.” Steve pulled Bucky in for a hug, nestling his head into the nook of Bucky’s neck. “But we’re here now. Shhh, it’s okay. I love you”

Steve let out another little sob, hissing him his breath. They had always said they loved each other, but even Bucky felt something different crackle in the air between them after he said it. Steve caught his breath in Bucky’s neck, then pulled back and composed himself. “Love you too, Buck.” Then Steve smiled in a wicked way only Bucky did, and he pulled the other man close, barely pressing his lips against Bucky’s ear, holding onto his chest for support. “Or should I start calling you ‘sir’ now?”

A jolt of electricity shot down his spine, making him stand up straight. Somewhere far off, he heard Steve laugh and felt him clap his back, but he wasn’t really there. He knew he was blushing, and he hated it. Is this how he made Steve felt? 

“Come on, kid. Learn to take a joke,” Steve imitated him too well, and Bucky finally unfroze. He rolled his eyes indignantly, happy to be back to business as usual.  _ Jokes are just jokes, Barnes. Get a hold of yourself. _

Steve was now on the other side of the room, flipping lazily through a newspaper on the table. Bucky had to get him back. He walked up to him, smiled coyly, and leaned over to the blond’s ear, just as close as Steve had gotten. He put one hand on the arm of the chair, the other on the other side of Steve’s face, trailing his fingers down his neck softly. “Fuck, Stevie, you look gorgeous.” He was now brushing Steve’s exposed collarbones gently, occasionally pressing small bruises into the skin. “You sound so amazing when you say stuff like that,” Bucky purred, using his sex voice now. He felt Steve melt beneath him, giving him a vote of confidence to continue. “You’re always so amazing for me.” When Steve emitted what could only be described as a moan, Bucky pulled back, proud of his work. Steve was in disarray, eyes half lidded and clouded. Bucky smiled. “Pull yourself together, Rogers.” Without meaning to, the words tumbled out as a low voiced command instead of a joke.

Steve got up in a rush, face burning red. He walked off, cursing quietly under his breath. His face betrayed both anger and sadness.

He had taken it too far.

 


	3. Not letting go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comfort

Steve didn’t know why he felt like this, spines in each vertebrae holding him up painfully straight. He shook his shoulders, closing the door to the bathroom swiftly. He wished it wasn’t like this, he wished he didn’t run away from this part of him. He preached fighting the good fight, putting yourself out there, standing up for what’s right, but not here. Not when it was himself, not when it regarded him.

He threw water on his face. God, he should heed his own damn advice. He couldn’t solve his problems with his super soldier force, this was a Steve Rogers issue, not a Captain America thing. He always tried so hard to take everything he felt and bottled it, especially now that Bucky was here and back and he couldn’t lose everyone again. He had done enough, he broke up the Avengers for Bucky, he was now on the run for Bucky, and he was going to lose everything because of his  _ issues. _

He remembered back in Brooklyn, when Bucky started smoking, he tried to too. When Bucky would dance with girls, he wanted to dance too, but with Bucky, not the redheads the brunette would go on about. He fought for the things Bucky believed in, even when it could’ve killed him. It still was killing him. 

And now he cowered in the bathroom, listening to the rush of the water and the blood in his ears. He thought how things were worse but easier when Bucky was gone, and how guilty he always felt for feeling that way. Times were changing, but he still heard everyone’s voice in his head. The dead still rattled around with him everywhere. 

He heard Bucky pacing outside the door. He turned off the water, the yellow fluorescent light thrumming into his brain and eyes. He turned towards the door, but had nothing to say. He felt like such an idiot for getting worked up over literally nothing. And that was just it, it was nothing.

He heard his wrist chirp loudly- Natasha. He answered perhaps too quickly for Nat, but anything was better than facing Bucky alone right now. “Hey Nat!”

“What’s wrong? Why did you answer me in the bathroom?” Natasha squinted at him, her chin resting on her thumb.

“Talkative today, huh?” Steve dragged his still wet hand down his face, smoothing his beard nervously. “It’s just been,” He paused, thumbing his lip nervously. “It’s been weird.”

Natasha smiled like she could read him. “It’s going to be tough. You two have been through a lot.”

Steve hated how Nat could say the bare minimum to make him feel like she could read his mind. “That’s a way to say it.” Steve lowered his voice. “It’s different.”

Natasha bristled. “Do you need me?” She said it so quietly it was barely audible. Steve let out a long sigh. 

“No, that’s not what I need. I just need,” What did he need? Time, space? He’s had way too much of that. “It’s my fault. I’m very stressed.” Fucking Steve and his fucking honesty. He hated how blunt he was.

“Steve,” Nat sounded on edge, “What on earth did you do?”

“Fuck, no Nat, it’s not like that, it’s just,” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I forgot that certain things went in the ice with me. It’s been a while, maybe too long. I just want things to be easy like they used to; it’s easier when you’re worrying about the feelings of a dead man.” He regretted the words as they tumbled out, but he did mean them. “I don’t want him dead, I just-”

“Wish he never died,” Nat finished confidently. 

“Yeah, that’s it.” Steve sighed, wishing he never was dealt these cards. It would be so simple to be someone else, but he wasn’t. 

“He’s going through the same thing, you know. Go be there for him.” And with that, the phone call abruptly ended. 

And Steve was alone again, sitting in the bathroom, listening to his blood thrum in his ears as the world melted back into his vision. Nat was right, she always was, but he didn’t want to face it right now. He’d rather get hit in the head with some alien’s fist then do this. He mustered up the courage and opened the door.

He heard Bucky’s voice from the other room, chatting to someone who sounded vaguely familiar.  At the sound of the door opening, he heard Bucky tell the man he had to go.  _ Jesus, had he always been so kind? _

Bucky poked his head around the corner tentatively, smiling gently when he saw Steve. “Hey, bud. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking right. Shouldn’t’ve messed with you like that.” He rubbed Steve’s hair gently, like he used to do when Steve was younger and sick. It was all so similar yet foreign. He felt tears prick in his eyes. Bucky recoiled. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you need time? I can give you anything you-”

Steve cut him off by wrapping his hands around him. “I should be here to help you, not the other way around,” He could hear the guilt in his voice.

“I don’t need saving, Steve, I need time, especially time with you,” He said it so matter-of-factly that Steve felt guilty that he thought anything to the contrary might be true. He pulled himself away, allowing himself to be arms length from Bucky, looking at him. His eyes were duller, maybe more green. He was older, but it seemed like the age was from stress. How much had he been through? He pushed away the pity in his stomach; he hated pity as a child more than his illnesses.

“Let’s sit on the porch. I think I could use some air and space.” Steve dropped his arms from Bucky’s shoulders and quickly contemplated putting them at his hips, but he let them fall by his side. He followed Bucky to the end of the hall, exiting out the glass door he had come in about 10 hours ago. Their borrowed time was slipping away from the both of them, so they learned to move quickly. Steve kind of despised this part of him.

They sat silently on the worn loveseat on the porch, the clouds covering the sun just enough that it wasn’t too hot. The yard was green and lush, a pond in the distance. He never pinned Bucky as a farmer, but things had changed. He guessed the activity was good for the restless man.

Their broad shoulders brushed when they were confined to the small space, and it reminded Steve of their shared bunks in the war. He missed the distraction that fear brought him, not that  he wasn’t scared now. Maybe he did need a war, even though it was different now.

“I think there are things that make me go back to being him,” Bucky said, still looking forward onto the placid pond in the distance. “It’s like, once you become someone, you can still see them in you, no matter who you are now.” Steve thought sorely of Cap. “Like, even when you have no right to worry about them, it’s like he’s family?” The inflection of the statement implied Bucky was asking, but Steve had no sufficient answer. “Sometimes I don’t know who’s in here, and why they’re there when they are. Steve, I’m so tired of running but staying still also seems wrong. I’m on a damn hamster wheel here.

“They keep me busy here, and though I am thankful, I’m still a soldier. I want to do good, and the good I’m doing only brings me so far. It all gets so overwhelming, and I don’t know what they think my future holds. I always thought I’d spend my time in Brooklyn with you, that I’d spend my life on that roof with you, I’d be smoking and you’d be reading about how the world works, drawing my stupid face all hours of the night. But then the war, and you, and then all I had to worry about was making sure you were alive and okay. I knew you had changed, but I still saw younger you, picking fights in the street with a split lip. You were always so damn stupid,” Bucky let out a sad laugh, “Nothing mattered to you except your stupid morals and Sara and me. Why was I lucky enough to be one of those things, Steve? Why did you choose me?” Bucky still evaded eye contact.

Steve was quiet for a moment, remembering everything. It still kind of hurt, thinking about all the time that passed. “Because I wanted to, I guess. It always felt like we were supposed to contradict and compliment each other. At least, time after time it’s been proven something in the world is dragging us together, to here and now. Maybe it’s just one of those things that just happen.” As he spoke, he fished in his pocket, finding a small pad of paper and tiny pencil. He began sketching Bucky’s jaw and lips from memory. “What’re the odds we made it here,” He drew a hint of teeth between his parted lips, sculpting a cupid’s bow without looking up at him. “together, in almost one piece?” He glanced quickly at Bucky’s arm. “Things work out, in one way or another.”

He felt Bucky’s eyes on him, so he looked up through his eyelashes. Bucky was looking him up and down, trying to calculate some missing piece. He was leaning closer, staring at his drawing carefully. “I feel like I’m going to hurt you, Steve.” The words sounded like an accident, maybe even a threat.

But Steve didn’t recoil or shift demeanor. “You won’t, we’ve got this.” And then Bucky leaned in, kissing Steve’s forehead gently. Steve smiled. “When did you go soft on me?”

“When I got you back.”

  
  



	4. Maybe You'll Be There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's short and sweet

Steve had fallen asleep on the porch, and Bucky had simply thrown a blanket on him, rolling down the mosquito net and turning down the light (Steve never liked sleeping in the total darkness).

Bucky had woken up early, spent some time working out, ran to town, and had come back before Steve had awoken. It was like him tending for little Stevie when they were younger. He clung onto the past too much, but it was okay. It helped ground him in the present.

The trip wasn’t much to speak of, besides the Wakandan children offering him a woven red daisy chain, which he happily put on his head, He would say it was simply to appease them, but he just had all guards down here, never considering how people might think about James Buchanan Barnes walking around with flowers tucked in his hair. He remembered people jokingly asking him if he and Steve were ‘rationed’ yet, or how that man he pushed off Steve, beaten half to death, called him a fairy. Holy hell, if they saw him now: long hair, flowers, going home to Steve. _Fuck, when you put it like that-_

Caught up in his delusions, he dropped the can he was putting away on his foot. “Motherfucker!” He didn’t mean to yell, but he heard the shift as Steve roused himself from sleep. Steve needed his sleep, no matter how much he quipped about having caught up for the next two centuries. He sighed, watching Steve walk leisurely into the house. “Morning, doll. How’d ya sleep?”

Steve blushed at the nickname, but strode to the couch and flopped on it. “Morning, Buck.” He ran his fingers through his hair, making a futile attempt to manage it. “But it isn’t morning, is it?”

“Just barely,” Bucky smiled. “Quarter to noon, to be exact.” He placed down his prepared and slightly cold breakfast, a bagel, smoked salmon, and cream cheese, in front of his friend. “How’re you?”

Steve sighed heavily. “Had a nightmare,” He confessed, but he was obviously still hiding something from him, but Bucky didn’t press. If Steve wanted to tell him, he would.

The day passed by lazily, the two men talking and laughing and, as the afternoon crept by, drinking. The two men, by the time the sun set, were both tipsy and relaxing in his house.

The two men sat in silence with the exception of the skipping, haunting voice of Billie Holiday singing _Strange Fruits_ over the record player. Bucky tried not to let images of the war haunt him as he struck a match and lit an old cigar, placing it between his lips. He saw Steve look up disapprovingly at the cigar, but he said nothing. Bucky closed his eyes and smoked, the familiar burn in his throat and smell of cigar comforting his brain. He remembered dancing with beautiful girls, swaying on boardwalks and laughing at midnight. And he remembered bombshells and gunshots and landmines and death. And women and parties and _Steve Rogers_. And he looked at the man and smiled.

The record changed, playing _Maybe You’ll Be There._ Steve stood up, reaching his hand out. “James Barnes, may I have this dance?”

He stood up, “ _Each time I see a crowd of people/ Just like a fool I stop and stare”_ Bucky pulled in Steve, gripping his hand and waist, smiling with the cigar between his lips. “ _It's really not the proper thing to do/ But maybe you'll be there”_ Steve carefully grabbed the cigar, putting it out in the ashtray. Bucky’s hand felt so cold without Steve’s warmth. He smiled when he grabbed it again, pulling them in close. _“I go walking after midnight/ Along the lonely thoroughfare”_ The music was low and slow, and they did a four step waltz around his small living room, both their eyes closed. Bucky missed dancing with Steve more than anything. When they played that memory when he was in cyro, he felt such a sadness wash over him. _“It’s not the time nor place/ To look for you/ But maybe you’ll be there”_ The slow song sounded quiet and melancholy, and her voice made Bucky tear up. _“You said your arms would always hold me/ You said your lips were mine alone to kiss”_ Their chests were pressed together, and their noses touched at the tips, breathing each other’s breath. _“Now after all those things you told me/ How can it end like this?”_ Steve lifted up Bucky’s arm, and he spun, their fingers tracing each other’s in the air. Bucky felt the electricity in the air, wanting to savour this moment forever. _“Someday if all my prayers are answered/ I’ll hear a footstep on the stair”_ The room seemed to spin as he felt Steve lean in. _“With anxious heart/ I’ll hurry to the door”_ His lips touched his gently, and Bucky kissed him back carefully, trying to ignore the stars in his vision. _“And maybe you’ll/ be there”._


	5. How Deep Is The Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All chapters will be based off 30s and 40s songs that I choose. I will take song recs though, so feel free to comment them!   
> This chapter's song is this lovely number https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oqNR3WB2HMM

Steve didn’t remember when he leaned in, or when he started kissing Bucky, he just knew it happens. The warmth from the alcohol and the kiss filled his stomach, and he smiled as he moved his face down to kiss his neck. The other man tilted his neck to invite him in.

Suddenly, Steve snapped back to reality as the warmth of the record died for a moment. He pulled away for a moment before sighing, letting himself fall onto the couch, his heavy body making it creak.

“Are you okay, Stevie?” Bucky asked, concerned lines appearing above his brow. Steve said nothing. “Are you doing okay?” He repeated.

“Yeah, I’m just-” What was he? A failure, sure. A disappointment, surely. But gay? And for Bucky? “I’m just a little confused I think.”

Bucky sat down next to him, putting a comforting hand on his back. “I am a little too, Stevie. But that’s okay. We can talk this out, I promise.”

Steve was almost frustrated by how kind Bucky was being. He wished he’d punch him or cuss him out or fucking  _ something _ . Anything but a kind hand rubbing circles on his spine and gently knocking his knees against his own. Steve closed his eyes, letting a tear squeeze out. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Hey,” The brunette smiled, moving his hand from his back to hold Steve’s. “It’s okay, Steve. It really is.”

The record kept spinning. He knew Bucky picked the songs on it, as none were by the same artist.  _ How Deep Is The Ocean  _ played, Irving Berlin’s voice filling the room. Steve teared up, pulled out of the moment.

It was 1937 again, a year before the war officially kicked off, and years before the US joined in. Steve was 17, Bucky was 18. Steve was sitting down on his shabby couch, clad in brown pants and suspenders and a white button down with the top buttons undone, Bucky drinking whiskey in the corner in a tank top and black slacks, talking to Steve about work and girls and his siblings. The phonograph died down for a moment, and the song began. Steve smiled, it was his favorite song at the moment.

Bucky put his glass down. “Do you still want to have me teach you how to dance?” 

Steve was at first taken aback a little. They had joked that he needed to learn to dance, so when Bucky went out on dates at the boardwalk he could bring a girl of his own, but he had never taken the offer seriously. “Uh, sure, if you want.”

“Stand up then,” The order came off as sweet from Bucky’s lips. Steve obliged, and Bucky grabbed his waist with one hand, knocking Steve to Bucky’s chest. He smiled at Steve’s blush, his ears hot with embarrassment. “Put that hand on my shoulder,” He grabbed Steve’s hand. “And hold my hand with this one.”

Steve knew his face was red, but he did as he was told. He looked up at Bucky, trying not to melt as he met his eyes. Steve had always been confused about his best friend. Bucky talked about the girls he met, and he described them and how he felt like how Steve had always felt about Bucky. “Now move your feet like mine.” He felt the other man move, and he tried his best to keep up with him, sweating a little at the simple motions. “You’re doing great.” Steve smiled at the simple praise.

It was 1943, the hot summer taking over the camp. Steve was talking to Peggy Carter, and the phonograph began to play.

Steve held out his hand, and him and Peggy danced. He brown hair was done up nicely, revealing her pretty face. He spun her gently, his broad shoulders appearing even broader with her small hands on them. Her red lips smiled as they swayed in the middle of the camp, both silent and both serene.

“How long until we’re away from all this, away from all the fighting?” Steve broke the silence after a few moments. “This war has gone on too long, the fighting should stop.”

“If we stop fighting we lose,” Peggy sighed, looking down at her feet. “And we both know we can’t do that.”

“We’re fighting the good fight,” Steve recited. “And we always will be.”

“Steve?”

And it was the present again and Steve was crying and everything was wrong and different. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go,” He whispered, but it was loud enough that Bucky could hear. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve tried so hard to hide all this. I’m the face of the US, I’ve always fought the good fight, but I’ve torn myself in two trying to be the right version of who I’m supposed to be. I just, I wish I never got Super Soldier-ed, I wish I was able to conform, I wish I was who everyone is telling me I should be.

“I’ve lost everything. I lost you, I lost Peggy, hell, I lost 66 years off my life. And now I’m risking the facade I’ve hidden so long behind for you. And maybe I’m okay with that, but maybe I’m not. Maybe this is all wrong and I’m making the biggest mistake of my life. Buck, what if people find out?”

“Would that really be so bad to you?” Bucky’s voice betrayed the hurt he was feeling just a little, making Steve wish he had kept his mouth shut.

“No, no, not like that. I’m not ashamed of you, Buck. I’m ashamed of myself. And that’s such a shitty feeling to have.”

“I know that more than anyone.”

Steve again felt a pang of guilt. “I know you do, and I’m sorry. I just wish, hell I wish it didn’t go like this. I wish I didn’t wait so long, I wish I was honest with you upfront, all those years ago. And I wish I didn’t feel so guilty for loving you.”

The words tumbled off his lips before he could stop them. He winced at his mouth’s betrayal of his emotions.  _ Fuck fuck fuck. Don’t say you love him. Don’t you see what a fool-” _

“I feel guilty for loving you too,” Bucky interrupted his racing thoughts. Steve looked at him for the first time since the conversation started. “I don’t want to burden you with my past, with my present, but I love you and I can’t change that, can I?” He was so earnest and honest Steve almost wanted to cry.

Instead, Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and held him close. “You won’t ever be a burden to me, I promise. Nothing you’ve done can change that.”

“Thank you, Stevie.”

“I love you, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will add some tags and why I changed this to an M rating ;)


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